Backfire
by puppyblue
Summary: Teague Martin is already the High Overseer, the most powerful man in the Abbey of the most prominent religion in the Empire. What, exactly, does he have to gain from poisoning Corvo? Perhaps it's time for a change of plans.


His stomach ached.

Corvo pulled a small face of displeasure, eyeing his glass. He'd drunk deeply when Pendleton had handed it to him, partly out of politeness and partly out of sheer relief. He was regretting it now as his stomach rolled, hot and sour. Perhaps he should have eaten something more than scraps first.

"Corvo? Are you all right?" Callista's soft voice broke through his growing stupor and drew his attention back to the table. She had her hands wrapped around her own drink, still full, sitting across the booth from Emily, who glanced up from her drawings curiously.

Corvo smiled with some effort, placing his glass down on the table. "I'm fine. Just a bit too worn down to properly enjoy all this. Maybe I can join in the celebration later."

Callista huffed, a delicate noise. "I'd say you've earned the right to celebrate however you like."

"I'd like to think so." His smile felt a little easier now. "I might just go rest, once they've all drunk enough not to notice I'm missing."

"But it's your party!" Emily protested, with all the indignation of a child too often sent to bed in the middle of adult celebrations. "You can't go to sleep now!"

Callista scolded her softly, too indulgent in the peaceful atmosphere to continue beyond that. Emily just wrinkled her nose, smiling up at Corvo with an air of mischief. He grinned back, glancing over the rest of the party quickly.

Havelock and Pendleton were still at the bar, falling deeper into their cups as they talked. Piero had commandeered a table for what looked to be a complicated diagram built out of blood sausage and lettuce, while Lydia seemed deep in conversation with both Wallace and Cecelia on the other side of the room. Samuel was still absent though and so, he realized suddenly, was Martin.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen the Overseer all night, even back at the start of his triumphant return. He started to turn back towards Callista in concern, a question forming on his tongue.

And then the room around him wavered, rolling in green-tinted waves as the music and voices around him pitched high in his ears.

He reached out a hand, alarmed, and braced himself against the side of the booth, but the room righted itself just as quickly as it had shifted, leaving him with nothing more than a mild headache and a metallic tang in the back of his throat. He blinked hard a few times, uncertain.

"Corvo?" Callista was watching him more closely now, frowning slightly.

He waved her off, swallowing back the bad taste in his mouth. "I'm fine. It's all just catching up to me, I think."

She leaned in, looking concerned. "You really should go rest, then. I'll tell the others where you've gone, if they ask."

"I…yes, I think I'll do that," he sighed, giving in. The celebratory mood of the room felt somehow stifling now, anyway.

"Go on." She shooed him off, an indulgent smile smoothing the lines of worry that had carved themselves into her face. He forced a smile in return and ruffled Emily's hair, rubbing at his dry, aching eyes. Perhaps he _was_ simply exhausted. This had been a long, hazardous campaign, after all.

Even as he turned to leave, though, there was the tiniest curl of horror gathering in the bottom of his stomach, creeping ice-cold fingers up his spine. _Please, no…_

He made it to the stairs before it hit him again. He gripped the bannister, fighting the urge to sway, and gasped for breath when it faded a few seconds later. His stomach roiled as metal flooded his mouth again and he gritted his teeth against it, blinking hard against the burning in his eyes as he moved up the steps. _Go lie down. You'll be fine. Just rest_.

He so desperately wanted to believe it.

It crashed over him as he reached the next floor and sent him stumbling, his head pounding in time with the room's wavering. He reached out a hand for a wall that suddenly seemed too far away, certain his knees were about to give out –

He bumped into something warm and solid. Hands clasped his shoulders, holding him upright, and someone spoke, although it was reduced to a muffled, high-pitched whine in his ears. He grabbed at their wrists, squeezing until the world stood still again, and Martin's face swam into focus.

The Overseer was peering directly into his eyes, searching for something, and Corvo realized the man was probably waiting for an answer to a question he hadn't even heard. His tongue felt too thick in his mouth as he tried to find words. "I…sorry, I don't – "

"You've been poisoned." Martin told him, the calmness of his voice contrasting strangely with his words. "Tyvian Bloodroot. A nasty piece of work, applied right, but if we can get enough of it out of your system, you'll probably survive."

That little voice in the back of his head was shrieking furiously at the confirmation, even as his mind and tongue were sluggish to catch up. "…poisoned?"

"Havelock and Pendleton. They probably slipped it into your ale to mask the taste." Martin elaborated, slightly less patient. "You've done all their dirty work, so they've decided you've outlived your usefulness. They can't risk you opposing them in the future, after all – you know better than any how many laws they've broken here."

The ground dropped away from him – rather literally, and he had to breathe deep as the room pitched around him yet again. Nausea was building quickly higher in his gut, the betrayal only adding to the effects from his drink.

 _Poison_. From the poison in his drink. His mind was still slow to recognize it, somehow – unwilling to believe it, even as the evidence piled up.

He wasn't usually naïve: he'd watched the nobles of Jessamine's court for years, had seen the draw of power that turned some men mad. And he was the one thing standing between the Loyalists and total control of the Empire – the only thing standing between them and Emily. It was just…he'd truly believed in their good intentions. He'd felt _safe_ here.

Perhaps that should have warned him it was too good to be true.

Martin was speaking again and Corvo forced himself to focus past the heartbeat in his ears. " – out, as quickly as possible."

Corvo blinked at him, bleary and torn, his thoughts numb and moving like slow molasses even with the shock of anger and hurt bubbling underneath.

Martin sighed and tugged him fully upright, hooking an arm around his waist to help pull him down the hallway. "Come on, Corvo."

He tried to force his feet to listen, but they felt disconnected and he stumbled as he walked. Strange, but he'd never quite noticed just how large Martin was until the man was almost dragging him down the hallway. Then again, everyone looked smaller when they were standing next to Havelock's bulk and Pendleton's height.

Their destination became obvious as Martin nudged open the door to the bathroom, the usual lingering stench in the air turning his stomach even further. They pulled to a stop by the covered chamber pot and Corvo braced a hand against the wall as Martin released him. He knew what needed to be done here, but…

"I've never been able to – " He waved a hand vaguely at his own throat and then at the pot, grimacing. "Not intentionally."

Not for lack of trying, either. During a few of those unfortunate times he'd caught the flu, he'd attempted it just for relief from the nausea, but he'd never managed more than a gagging cough.

Martin frowned, before laying a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back. Then Martin's hand pulled at his jaw and slipped past his teeth when he loosened his mouth in realization, fingers pressing at the back of his throat.

Martin's gloves tasted like leather and ashes, the bitterness of countless cigarettes lingering in the hide and overwhelming any other scents that might have clung there. It was almost a relief as it cut through the taste of metal coating his tongue, but between presence of Martin's fingers and his own already displeased stomach, it didn't take long to reach the desired result.

He heaved twice, fighting unconsciously against the pressure in his throat and trying not to bite Martin's fingers, before his body took over and he shoved Martin's arm out of the way.

His drink burned far worse coming back up than it had going down, burning a line up his insides, and stripping his throat raw. His eyes stung harshly as his sinuses burned and his muscles seized painfully around his ribs and stomach. Once he started, he found it hard to stop, and he ended up crouched over the chamber pot, coughing up liquid and acid until his stomach began to wrench painfully and he had nothing more to give.

When everything was finally out and the dry heaves calmed down, he sat back on his heels, spitting in a futile effort to clear the taste from his mouth. His mouth and throat felt scorched raw – his head was still muddled, but the pain was enough to help him focus for now.

"Here." Martin tapped something against his shoulder and Corvo glanced up to find the man holding out a vial, some kind of milky pink substance on the inside. "I bribed Sokolov to put something together this morning; slipped him out of his cage for an hour. It won't help much in the short term, I'm afraid, but he claims it should keep your organs from taking too much damage."

Corvo took it, but didn't open it.

"You knew they were planning this." His voice rasped and cracked unpleasantly as he looked at the vial, parts of the man's explanation now ringing clearer. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"They only started talking about it yesterday. I hardly had an opportunity, and distraction at the wrong time might have gotten you killed." Martin objected, crossing his arms.

Corvo raised his head to protest, but the Overseer kept talking. "Besides, I didn't honestly think they'd do it until Pendleton purchased the poison. Havelock tends toward paranoia – he makes a multitude of plans for every eventuality, some of which would make any reasonable man cringe. He doesn't usually act on them. I thought this was more of the same."

Corvo's mouth twisted, still displeased, and Martin looked away, casting his eyes to the ceiling for a moment before glancing back down at Corvo. "And perhaps I wanted to believe they were better than this."

Corvo looked away this time, his heart aching, because he could understand that. He'd believed the same. The vial of liquid felt and tasted like chalk when he drank it down, but he clenched his teeth and kept his stomach from rebelling yet again.

"They'll need to move quickly, now that they've made their decision." Martin mused, stepping back as Corvo climbed shakily to his feet. "Get Emily to the Tower before she asks too many questions about your whereabouts. Tomorrow morning, most likely, or evening at the latest."

The wavering hit again as he spoke, nearly wiping out the end of his sentence as everything blurred. Corvo stayed upright, stiff-legged, until it faded, but it was very clear that he wasn't going to be winning any fights in his current condition. That left Martin. "You'll stop them."

"I'll do my best," Martin agreed slowly, "though I'd prefer to lay low and wait until you're back on your feet, if possible. Havelock's the best shot I know and Pendleton can be cunning when he wants to be. It would be difficult for me to keep the others safe if it came to a fight."

Corvo grunted in acknowledgement. The Hound Pits servants were a motley crew, but he'd grown rather fond of all of them. He certainly didn't want any of them to come to harm. "How long until the effects of… _this_ wear off?"

"From what I know, it's going to get worse before it gets better," Martin warned him, "but if you wake up in the morning, you should be over the worst of it."

 _If_. Wonderful.

Havelock and Pendleton would be looking for him soon, of course, to be sure their plan had succeeded, and so Corvo braved the climb up to the attic room, Martin bracing his shoulders behind him whenever he faltered. It wouldn't take much of an effort to play dead at this point, he decided, and the thought was blackly amusing.

Martin stopped on the last landing, preparing to rejoin the Loyalists at the bar. Corvo pulled himself up the last flight of stairs alone and turned his head, the white Abbey symbol on Martin's coat catching at the corner of his eyes in the dim light.

"I'd offer you luck, but from what I've seen, you probably won't need it." Martin told him blandly, before he turned and slipped back down the stairs on silent feet.

Corvo pulled in a breath and stumbled the last few feet into his room. It was difficult not to panic as his entire body spasmed and his legs failed him, dropping him to the floor in the swimming, green-tinged room before he even reached the bed, but he forced himself to play dead and wait. He'd faced worse than this before and survived, after all.

He could do this.

* * *

Of course, it wasn't quite that easy.

Samuel was only trying to help, he knew that, and he was utterly relieved that his faith in Samuel's character had not been misplaced. But sending him floating away into the Flooded District, paralyzed and helpless?

Not exactly helpful.

* * *

When Corvo finally slipped out of the sewers and back into the Old Port District, he started out at a slow creep, sticking to the ample shadows provided by the still-rising sun. He'd been gone over a day now, so Havelock and Pendleton would know he wasn't actually dead. Whatever Martin had done in his absence, he expected they would have brought guards in, at the very least.

A few minutes of sneaking around and watching an empty street, and he started to feel rather foolish. He straightened up and moved quickly across to the pub, checking carefully with his Dark Vision as he went. Nothing - the entire place looked deserted. A frisson of fear and frustration shot through him as he wondered if they'd managed to take Emily and run. He didn't know how much strength he had left, whether he'd make it through another assault.

Martin had said he would keep Emily safe, but he'd been expecting Corvo to be at the pub and able to help as soon as the poison ran its course. With Samuel's interference changing that plan, there was no knowing what the Overseer might have done instead.

 _Maybe he had no intention of helping. Maybe he just went with them._ His mind whispered doubt at him and he forced himself to shake it off, pulling up the last tattered remains of his wounded trust. It was unlikely that Martin would have helped him only renege later.

Or, maybe Martin had tried to help, tried to stop them from taking Emily, and they had… _disposed_ of the problem, the way they had decided to do with Corvo.

The thought disturbed him more than he would have expected and he quickened his steps.

Whatever his thoughts as he cracked open the pub door, he hadn't expected to see Martin and Emily sitting together at the bar in the low light of dawn, building what looked to be an elaborate tower of cards.

Emily yelped happily when she saw him, spinning away from the tower and sending the cards flying in every direction as she flung herself into his arms. He hugged her back just as tightly, relief finally quenching the desperation that had driven his movements for hours. He distantly heard Martin's stool scrape against the floor and realized that Emily was talking, babbling really. "…said you'd come back soon, of course, but I don't see why you even had to leave in the first place! I thought you were done with all that. Are we going back to the Tower?"

"Yes," he rasped, and cleared his throat painfully, "yes, we can go back now."

"Callista said Empresses have to live at the Tower, but we can come back here and visit, can't we?" Emily asked him, balancing up on her tiptoes to look into his eyes. "I'll miss it here."

"Of course we can visit," he told her, and her easy smile was almost enough to sooth the anxiety that had tensed his shoulders at the familiar smell of the pub's drinks. "Why don't you go wake the others? We'll need an early start today."

"All right." Emily nodded agreeably and headed for the stairs, calling back, "Lord Pendleton and Admiral Havelock aren't here, though. Overseer Martin said they had things they needed to do in the city."

Corvo waited until her footsteps faded before he went to find Martin.

The Overseer was waiting for him just outside the door leading out to the docks, leaning against the opposite wall, and smoking. The flare of the ember reflected off his eyes for a moment – they looked nearly as tired as Corvo felt, even if Martin's face was impassive, as usual. "Lady Emily has trouble sleeping when you're away, you know."

Corvo resisted the urge to steal Martin's cigarette – with his throat the way it was, he'd probably cough up a lung. "Where are they?"

Martin tipped his head, indicating the old building that held the dog cages. Corvo shot him a dubious look, but set off towards it. Footsteps echoed behind him after a moment as Martin followed along.

There were gouges in the dirt of the courtyard as he walked across – straight and rather deep, as though something heavy had been dragged across it – and he knew what he was going to find. He forced open the heavy door and leaned on the frame, wrinkling his nose at the smell and staring at the cage as he waited for his eyesight to adjust to the dimness.

Sokolov was gone – released, most likely, and replaced by the bodies of the Loyalists. Most of Pendleton was hidden behind the bulk of Havelock's body; the larger man's limbs sprawled gracelessly wide. Havelock's face was blue and bloated, his tongue poking grotesquely out of his mouth. Corvo didn't bother pacing around the cage to check; Pendleton had almost certainly suffered the same fate.

He wasn't an expert on such things, but it looked a lot like -

"Poison," Martin's voice confirmed behind him. Corvo didn't turn around. "Far more potent than the one they used on you, but still, it seemed fitting."

It wasn't that they didn't deserve it, but…he had hoped to take then alive. "I suppose you didn't have a choice."

"I didn't know when you would make it back," Martin shook his head, frowning as he dropped his cigarette, grinding it under his boot, "and they were going to leave yesterday – _after_ disposing of the servants, of course."

It didn't sound like a rebuke, but Corvo grimaced all the same, his stomach dropping at the thought. Then he cast one last glance at the bodies, slightly impressed at Martin's efficiency despite himself. "How did you get them to take it?"

Martin raised an eyebrow – he didn't answer, but there was a satisfaction about him that Corvo wouldn't have expected. He suddenly spared a thought to wonder where Martin had gotten the poison in the first place, on such seemingly short notice.

Perhaps it shouldn't really have surprised him, though. For all their faith and diligence, the Overseers had never been kind.

"Corvo!" Emily's voice warbled across the open yard, shaking him out of his thoughts. They slipped out of the building and back down the stairs to join her as she skipped towards them. The empty structure at the corner of the courtyard caught his eye as they moved, and he remembered Samuel, who'd had even less reassurance during this whole unpleasant business than Corvo himself had.

"Do you know where Samuel is?" He asked Martin, unsure of how much the Overseer knew of the boatman's involvement.

"He disappeared the same night you did." Martin offered, visibly amused. "Intelligent of him, really. I expect he'll be back once he realizes you're here."

Corvo glanced out over the Wrenhaven as Emily skidded to a stop in front of them.

"What are you frowning about?" She asked him cheerfully. "It's all over now, isn't it?"

"Yes –" He started, and frowned deeper, glancing over at Martin. "Well, we'll need to talk to the Watch first. We may have trouble convincing them to stand down."

"I'm going to be the Empress! They'll have to listen to me - I'll tell them what happened. And Overseer Martin will help, too." She twisted her head to peer up at him. "Won't you?"

"Of course." Martin laid a hand on her shoulder and clapped Corvo on the back at the same time, walking between them with ease. His smile was soft, his teeth hidden and his eyes opaque. Corvo's back prickled under his hand. "Anything I can do, my lady."

"See, Corvo? They'll listen." Emily grinned, prancing around him, and Corvo accepted both her encouragement and her offered hand as she grabbed onto him and Martin, letting her swing between them as they moved back towards the pub.

He blinked away sunspots as they slipped back into the shadows inside. The floorboards above his head thumped and creaked as the rest of the group made their way downstairs and he could almost imagine, just for a moment, that nothing had changed. Soon though, they'd have to explain what had happened to Havelock and Pendleton, what the men had tried to do. It wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to having – Wallace, certainly, was not going to take it well. Still, it could at least wait until after breakfast.

He slipped into one of the booths and watched as the Hound Pits came alive around him, Lydia slipping behind the bar to start on the morning cooking and Cecelia stumbling sleepily down the stairs with Callista not far behind her. Emily was bouncing around the room, waiting cheerfully for breakfast and pulling the others in with her energy. Corvo closed his eyes and let the rising warm burble of conversation wash over him.

The leather of the seats across from him squeaked, and he cracked one eye open to watch as Martin dropped into the booth. The Overseer slid a mug across the table until it came to a halt next to Corvo's wrist. Tea, by the smell of it – not his preference, but then again, it was probably the kindest choice, considering his throat.

Corvo did his best to control his expression, but Martin must have caught it anyway because he chuckled lowly. "I promise _this_ one isn't poisoned, but I'll forgive you for being suspicious, considering."

Corvo snorted, spinning the cup with a finger against the handle. Martin seemed content to sit in silence, so Corvo was the first one to break it. "The Watch really aren't going to be agreeable, you know."

"Maybe not," Martin shrugged one shoulder, sipping from his own cup, "but they won't go against the might of the Abbey, and the Abbey will stand behind us."

"Behind _you_." Corvo corrected, and both of them pointedly ignored his left hand resting openly on the table.

"It amounts to the same thing, in the end." Martin grinned at him – a full smile this time, knife-sharp and triumphant. "Oh, relax, Corvo. I know what I'm doing, and I'll be with you every step of the way."

Corvo eyed him uneasily before he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he let Martin's reassurances calm some of his worry. He accepted the drink, taking a sip, and it burned down his throat, a lingering echo of ash on his tongue.


End file.
